


Of Beignets and Sunsets

by luckie_dee



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Baker!Bitty, M/M, Not a Hockey Player!Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 07:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13654644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: Bitty's excited about finally moving into his own apartment. The ridiculously hot neighbor is just a perk.





	Of Beignets and Sunsets

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [creatingdoodles](https://creatingdoodles.tumblr.com/) for the 2018 Bitty's Valentine's Exchange, whose prompt included suits. For inspiration, I googled professions where men have to wear suits and well, this happened. Inspiration also taken from a tumblr post I can no longer find that prompted something like "one half of your OTP thinks that the other doesn't speak English because they only hear them speaking a foreign language." Takes place in an AU where Bitty has a blog, not a vlog, and he doesn't post his picture to it. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> No real warnings, just a couple of swear words.

” _Lardo_ ,” Bitty says dramatically when he finds her at the coffee shop, dropping into a chair on the opposite side of the table.

“ _Bits_ ,” she replies, barely glancing up from her sketchbook.

He frowns at the mild reaction and, without further preamble, announces: “An international supermodel lives in my building.”

That gets her attention — or, more accurately, her skepticism. She raises one eyebrow, her charcoal going still. “Here?”

“Mmhmmm,” Bitty confirms, sipping his coffee.

“Here,” she repeats. “In Providence.”

“Here.”

There’s an edge of curiosity in her expression now. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who is it?”

“Well,” Bitty hedges. “I’m not _entirely_ sure.”

“Then how do you know that this person is an international supermodel?”

Bitty leans eagerly across the table. “Consider the evidence: first of all, he’s _gorgeous_ —” Lardo rolls her eyes and starts to speak, but Bitty bowls right over her “— second, he was leaving at ass o’clock in the morning, same as me. We took the elevator together. And he was talking on the phone — in _French_.”

“That doesn’t mean —”

“Wait! I haven’t told you the most important part.” Bitty pauses for effect. “He was wearing a _suit_.”

Lardo blinks. “So he’s a businessman.”

“You, Larissa Duan,” Bitty says, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “are no fun. I prefer to think that he was going to a sunrise photoshoot. Let a gay boy dream.”

After a critical glance at her work, Lardo casts her charcoal aside entirely and picks up her mug, smudging fingerprints up the side. “Is there a reason you can’t dream if he’s just some corporate shill?”

“Because then I’ll never know what’s under that suit,” Bitty explains mournfully. “At least if he’s a model, he might do an underwear campaign and I’d see the goods. I deserve that much at least.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Lardo says, and they clink mugs.

*

Bitty’s excited about his new apartment for several reasons. He’s never lived on his own, having gone from his parents’ house to Samwell to bunking with Lardo when she’d transferred to RISD and Bitty had decided that Samwell wasn’t for him (largely because his grades slipped so low that he was barely clinging to his scholarship). It’ll save him from being the awkward third wheel when Shitty visits from Boston. He’ll be closer to the catering company where he’d recently graduated from Baking Assistant to Baker.

The ridiculously hot neighbor is just a perk.

Bitty doesn’t see him every day, but one or two blessed times each week, he gets to share the confined space of the elevator with that fine specimen, who’s always in a well-fitted suit. When he’s murmuring on his phone in French, Bitty fears that he’ll swoon on the spot.

Then comes a morning when Bitty’s on _his_ phone, chatting with Lardo, who’s still awake after painting all night. When he rounds the corner and sees the guy, an under-his-breath “well, good _morning_ ” slips out. 

Lardo, nearly delirious as she rambles about brush cleaners, pauses and says, “Uh — good morning? We’ve been on the phone for, like, ten minutes, haven’t we?”

Bitty chuckles. “Yes,” he assures her, dropping his voice, “but Monsieur Handsome is at the elevator.” With his hands jammed in his pockets, no less, pulling his suit pants tight across his _derriere_.

“Ohhhh. Do you want to hang up so you can — I don’t know — _say something_ to him?”

“Absolutely not,” Bitty hisses, pausing several steps behind him. “I’ll just admire the view.”

Lardo snorts. “He’s going to hear you anyway.”

“Relax. I’ve seen him plenty now, and he’s never said a word in English,” Bitty mutters. The guy hasn’t moved since Bitty approached — surely he would have reacted if he can understand what Bitty’s saying, right?

“Whatever you say, Bits. I’m gonna go pass out. Should we catch up later? My two o’clock is cancelled.”

“Sure,” Bitty replies. “Do you want to sketch by the river?”

“It’s a plan,” Lardo says through a yawn. “Call me when you’re home. Later.”

The elevator arrives as Bitty disconnects, and he steps in to stand opposite the tall, dark stranger, his eyes trained resolutely forward now. Maybe Lardo’s right, Bitty thinks as they descend. Maybe he _should_ say something — or smile. Smiles are a universal language, aren’t they? 

“It’s not a good day to go to the river.”

Bitty jumps and turns to gape at the guy, who shuffles his feet and avoids Bitty’s gaze. “I — I’m sorry?”

“It’s, um — it’s going to rain,” he says, and then rushes out, after flashing Bitty a tight-lipped smile.

Bitty just stares after him in mortification as the doors shut again.

*

That afternoon, it’s definitely raining, and Bitty is seated across from Lardo at the coffee shop, his face hidden in the pillow of his arms.

“Bits,” Lardo says, “you have to come out from there eventually.”

“Not yet,” Bitty grumbles.

“We’re in the window. You’re scaring people away.”

“Then you should have picked a different table.”

“It was busy. Not many options.”

They lapse into silence. Bitty doesn’t move.

“I tried to warn you,” she points out.

It’s pragmatic, not unkind, and Bitty groans. “I know,” he says, and actually lifts his head. “I _know_. And it’s fine. It’ll be fine. I’ll just… never take the elevator again.”

Lardo fixes him with an incredulous stare. “You live on the eleventh floor.”

“So I’ll get some exercise. The Bittle booty can always use work.”

“Your booty is fine,” Lardo scoffs. “Maybe this dude thinks so too, you know? He could have been pissed or freaked out, but instead he warned you about the rain. That was a nice thing, right?”

Bitty frowns, pulling his coffee mug closer and stirring in the whipped cream, which has almost completely melted. “He wasn’t exactly friendly about it.”

“Well, it was an awkward situation,” Lardo says diplomatically. “Maybe he’s just —” she shrugs “— awkward.”

“I guess,” Bitty mutters into his mug. He takes a disconsolate sip and turns, watching as the traffic light at the end of the block turns red, halting a line of cars and behind them, a city bus. Bitty blinks — it’s at an oblique angle, but unless he’s mistaken, the picture on the side is… “Oh my _lord_.”

Lardo squints out the window. “What?”

“You have _got_ to be shitting me.”

“ _What_?”

Bitty points. “That’s him. The guy, he’s on the side of that bus. See! I told you he was a —”

The word _model_ is on the tip of his tongue, but as the light changes again and the line of traffic pulls forward, Bitty lets his voice trail away.

“He’s a meteorologist,” Lardo says.

The ad isn’t for menswear or cologne or a movie, it’s for a local weather team. Bitty’s neighbor is right there, wearing a bland and vaguely uncomfortable — though no less attractive — smile.

When Bitty doesn’t respond, Lardo continues, “It explains a lot — the suits, the early mornings, how he knew about _this_.” She gestures to the rainwater smearing down the glass. “How he does very much speak English.”

Bitty frowns at her. “Don’t remind me.”

She gives him a sympathetic grimace in return. “Sorry, bro.”

“It’s okay,” Bitty sighs. “I guess I’ll just prepare myself for a workout, because I’m seriously never using that elevator again.”

“If it helps,” Lardo offers, “he is pretty hot.”

Bitty moans and drops his head back to his arms.

*

When he gets home, Bitty manages to wait all of twenty minutes before he pulls up the website of the station that his neighbor works for, which uses the same headshot that had been on the bus and proclaims that Bitty’s mystery man is _**Jack Zimmermann, Meteorologist**_.

Lord, but he’s good looking.

After a moment’s appreciation, Bitty reads his bio, where he learns that Jack works the noon news hour, earned his degree from Penn State, was born in Montreal, and enjoys watching hockey when he’s not watching the skies. There are links to articles and forecasts that Jack has done at the bottom of the page, but Bitty clicks the link to hisTwitter instead. He uses the same headshot there, and his tweets are bland and awkward in a way that borders on charming. They consist of three topics: the weather, hockey (largely the Falconers), and, surprisingly, beautiful weather pictures, some taken by Jack and some retweets.

Bitty scrolls, cringing here and there at some truly terrible jokes and admiring pictures of sunsets and thunderstorms — until he reaches a photo that freezes his thumb on the screen. It’s a retweet:

**Providence Falconers** @PVDFalcs  
After forecasting tonight’s #GoFalcs win, @jlz_wx joined us in the locker room. Thanks for stopping by!

The attached image showcases Jack with a huge Falconer — Mashkov, Bitty thinks, because he still watches enough hockey to be familiar with the team. Jack looks — oh, he looks just like heaven, wearing the most natural smile Bitty’s seen on him, a trim Falcs t-shirt, and a baseball cap. As much as Bitty enjoys Jack in a suit, somehow this is even better.

Bitty groans and tosses his phone aside. This isn’t helping. The best thing to do is just put it out of his mind.

So Bitty doesn’t think about it, not from the time he wakes up until he sneaks to the stairwell. He ignores it when he’s home and accidentally leaves his television on, not sparing Jack a thought until he appears onscreen and delivers the forecast with a spine-tingling hint of an accent. The situation doesn’t occupy any space in his mind unless Jack tweets — because okay, Bitty had followed him.

And he absolutely does not interact with Jack through Twitter, other than liking his weather photographs. Definitely not more than that... until a week later when he, Lardo, and Shitty are debating whether they should barbecue during Shitty’s next visit. The forecast is uncertain, calling for everything from downpours to hazy sunshine depending on the source. Shitty’s frustrated, because he’ll have to bring the grill from Boston, which would mean borrowing his friend’s truck, and it’s all turning into one very irritated group text when Bitty remembers Jack. Specifically, that he responds to viewer questions on Twitter.

Heart pounding, Bitty thumbs open the app and composes:

**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
@jlz_wx Will the rain clear out for BBQ on Saturday? Need to know if I should get the fixings for Moo Maw’s crispy grilled chicken and strawberry pie.

He sends it and all but throws his phone aside, leaving it in the kitchen while he retreats to his bedroom to sort laundry.

When it chimes, however, he comes scampering back with no shame.

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
@omgcheckplease Storms roll in later. If you’re planning for lunch, get those groceries.

It’s hardly poetry. It’s hardly _personal_ , but Bitty nearly expires all the same.

*

He can’t help it that he has another weather question shortly thereafter. It’s unseasonably warm, Bitty’s got a catering gig that involves meringue, and he fears for the worst. There’s really only one way to know if a menu change is in order.

**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
@jlz_wx any chance this humidity breaks before Thursday? Asking for a friend. And his meringue recipe. (人･∀･)

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
@omgcheckplease A little better by Thursday, but the real cooldown isn’t until this weekend.

**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
@jlz_wx better enough for meringue?

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
@omgcheckplease I have no idea. What works best?

**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
@jlz_wx not humid!

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
@omgcheckplease Proceed with caution. Good luck.

*

Then there’s this:

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
Beautiful sunset tonight. Anyone taking pictures?

Bitty considers that. He has a decent view out a west-facing window. Although he’s no artist, Bitty composes the shot as carefully as he can, including the plate of fresh beignets he’d finished earlier.

**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
@jlz_wx Sunset with Beignets. Pixels on smartphone, 2018.

Jack retweets it and, several minutes later, replies.

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
@omgcheckplease Great pic. You always tweet at me about food.

**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
@jlz_wx It’s my job! I’m a baker, and I have a blog #bittybakes http://t.co/2Asr8Jc

There’s another pause.

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
@omgcheckplease Very nice. Got anything with protein?

**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
@jlz_wx you must have overlooked the crispy fried chicken recipe (•‿•)

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx liked your tweet!

Several more likes show up over the next hour.

*

The first time that Jack tweets _him_ , Bitty nearly drops his phone in shock.

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
@omgcheckplease Do you have a good birthday cake recipe for beginners? The easiest one possible.

**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
@jlz_wx Chocolate? Vanilla? Other? Pan type? With frosting or without?

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
@omgcheckplease Whatever’s easiest.

**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
@jlz_wx This chocolate cake is pretty fail safe. You can frost it or dust with powdered sugar and top with raspberries. #bittybakes http://t.co/Pz12djS

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
@omgcheckplease Thanks.

Over the course of the ensuing weekend, Bitty constructs an elaborate fantasy where Jack bakes for his beautiful girlfriend to celebrate their anniversary, which is also her birthday, _and_ he proposes by hiding the ring inside the cake that he made _using Bitty’s recipe_. He mopes and won’t tell Lardo why, but his mood improves dramatically after his Monday shift:

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx  
@omgcheckplease Thanks again. I don’t think it turned out quite right, but my mom loved it.

*

When _Jack_ follows _him_ , Bitty knows that he needs to do _something_.

*

It takes Bitty two weeks to execute his plan. First, he has to develop the recipe, test it, and photograph the final product; next, he writes the accompanying blog. Finally, he makes one more batch and posts:

**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
Want something healthier from #bittybakes? Try these protein-packed breakfast bars: http://t.co/hb8Bh7i  
|  
**Bitty Bakes** @omgcheckplease  
Looking at you @RunninRIslander @jlz_wx @danube68271

The notification comes as he’s packing the bars into a container with a clear, plastic top:

**Jack Zimmermann** @jlz_wx liked your tweet!

*

When Bitty leaves his apartment, the tub of breakfast bars clutched in his arms, he heads resolutely for the elevator, not the stairs. There, he waits, jittering and looking over his shoulder every few seconds. Just when he’s about to give the entire enterprise up for naught, a door opens and closes, footsteps approach, and Bitty tries to get in a steadying breath or two while he still can.

Jack comes to stand beside him, and Bitty — nearly chickens out. It might not be too late; maybe Jack hasn’t gotten a glimpse of the breakfast bars, even though Bitty is holding the container so that it’s clearly on display and Jack’s already peering at it.

Bitty takes in one last lungful of air, pops the lid, and asks brightly, “Can I interest you in a breakfast bar, Mr. Zimmermann?”

When he manages to glance up at Jack’s face, he sees an expression of relief paired with a tentative smile. “It _is_ you,” Jack says.

Bitty blinks. “I — beg your pardon?”

“You’re oh-em-gee check please,” Jack announces. Then, his expression wavers. “Aren’t you?”

“It’s _oh my god_ ,” Bitty corrects him absently, still reeling.

Jack’s brow furrows. “What?”

“My Twitter. It’s _oh my god check please_ , not _oh em gee_.”

“Oh.” A brief grimace crosses Jack’s face. “Right.”

Bitty shakes his head, trying to get back on track. “That’s not — how did you…?”

Jack averts his eyes and scrubs at the back of his neck. “Well, um — that picture? Of the _beignets_?” (And _oh_ , does he say that word _right_.) “We live on the same side, so we have the same view. Then I started thinking, I always saw you in the morning, and bakers have to get up early. Or I thought they did. You had brownies once, and another time, um — a bag with a bunch of pans, and a rolling pin…” He clears his throat. “So I thought maybe you were the same person.”

“You knew who I was?” Bitty can’t believe that he’s hearing Jack right, that this display of sweet bashfulness is all for him.

“Well, not officially,” Jack points out, the corners of his lips twitching up before he looks back down. “But I was hoping you were the same guy, because I was afraid you moved out.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Bitty says. He contemplates throwing himself down the elevator shaft immediately after because _clearly not, Captain Obvious_.

Jack meets his gaze again, and Bitty’s almost bowled over by the force of it. That tiny smile is back. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Bitty replies dreamily. They stare at each other until Bitty grows flustered enough that _he_ has to look away. His eyes land on the still-open Tupperware. “Oh! Would you like to try one?” Jack hesitates, so Bitty extends the container farther. “Go on,” he encourages.

Jack selects a breakfast bar and bites off one corner. His eyebrows climb his forehead as he chews, and after he swallows, he says, “ _Wow_.”

Bitty can’t resist preening, just a little. “Is that a good wow?”

“Very good. Do they really have _that_ much protein?” Jack asks, continuing to eat.

“Quinoa, nuts, peanut butter, and a dash of protein powder,” Bitty confirms.

Jack nods thoughtfully. “They would be good with coffee.”

“That’s the idea.”

Bitty watches, entranced, as Jack’s cheeks go a bit pink. “Maybe we should try that sometime,” he offers. “Having these with coffee, I mean. Or just the coffee.”

If Bitty’s interpreting that jumble correctly, then… “I _think_ ,” Bitty says, feeling an answering blush rise in his own face, “you just asked if I want to get coffee sometime. And if you did, the answer is _yes_ , I would love that.”

Jack smiles at him in earnest as the elevator arrives. “How about tomorrow? It’s not going to rain, and I get the feeling it might be a really nice day.”

Bitty grins right back. “Well, I don’t know anything about predicting the weather, but I think you might be right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ♥ Feel free to come say hi at [my tumblr](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/).


End file.
